Love Like Winter
by docterwholock
Summary: [A/U: Persephone] There are seven sins that rage through the human soul. Old friends for a man like Gajeel in all ways except one. He never understood how lust could rule a man's actions until he was confronted with the little bookworm he was ordered to abduct, positioned as her guard to 'deal' with when she was no longer of use [M: dark themes, language, and later sexual content]
1. Prologue

**[Disclaimer: I own nothing...This is just for fun! Was thinking about making a bit of a fairy tale for Fairy Tail based off the idea of Persephone. Good idea? Bad idea? Please tell me what you think.]**

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**Prologue: An Unromantic Proposal…**

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_(...Kingdom of Magnolia...)_

There was never a bride who looked more miserable.

Dressed in a ruffled and lace gown—suspected to come from the flower girl section—with her light-blue hair piled under about a yard of gauzy veil that kept blinding her, Levy's primary focus was not to burst into tears and upset the well-meaning, elderly seamstress who was only doing her job of putting the final touches to the pure-white monstrosity of puff and needless volume. The idea to give the impression that Levy possessed curves had failed and all that was left was a little girl playing at princess dress-up.

It wasn't the woman's fault for Levy's current situation. That, rather than tending to the precious books of the library she worked and maintain, she had to stand in this stuffy salon while hens clucked about her. Suffocating her with estrogen and pretending that this was all preparation for what would be 'the happiest day' of her young life.

They knew the truth, yet kept trying to turn a lie into the more welcoming reality of the situation.

The truth being that Levy had no choice in the matter. As a wizard, she was directly under the control of Laxus, her king. In a world where magical gifts were rare and believed to have to be protected and nourished under the finest means possible, she—like all children with abilities that most couldn't explain or train—had been sent to the palace when her parents realized that the words Levy wrote took on a life of their own.

Once there, she was placed into classes that matured her gifts to blossom beyond the surface value, encouraging her to reach beyond what was expected to be her potential. These, the years that made the decade that followed the moment she walked into the castle's throne room to kneel before her king, were happiest years of her life. Ones that, under the rule and guidance of King Makarov, filled with friends and learning and fun.

To be fair, Levy knew that this would have would happened even if Makarov hadn't stepped down for his grandson to begin his rule. The law was ancient, a means to ensure the continuation of strong magical abilities. Soldiers to protect citizens and means to enhance daily life, through invention and study.

So, no, it wasn't Laxus' creation that put Levy in this situation.

His grandfather just would have gone about it with more tact.

Rather than summon Levy away from her work in the library, a domain she gained control of a few years after her arrival, to the echoing throne room, Makarov would have gone to the comfort of her preferred venue to put her more at ease.

Rather than make demands, he would have given Levy the courtesy of the illusions of options. Such as a considerable span of time for make a decision on who the groom would be.

Laxus already had that all planned.

"It only makes sense."Laxus proclaimed from where he lounged on his throne, on the dais above where Levy stood in what had been relative ease prior to what had once been a childhood friend making his blatant proclamation. "You're a solid script wizard with a masterful knack for deciphering text, and he is a rune wizard who has proven himself, on several occasions, with his combat skills…your children could be Dragon Slayers."

"With all due respect, your majesty," Levy bobbed an uncertain curtsey, "I highly doubt there will ever be a _word_ Dragon Slayer."

"Your children could be the first."

"Don't Dragon Slayers have to be, you know, raised by a dragon?" At least, that was how it went with Natsu, one of the many children she had study and grew-up with, and the newest novice, Wendy.

"Not necessarily." Laxus almost had a pouting note to his rich voice, a reminder that it had always been assumed that he was a Lighting Dragon Slayer for most of his life. Until, gruesomely and supposedly, proven differently. There was yet to be concrete proof leaning towards either decisive direction. "And, even if that is the case, I still have high hopes for the fruits of this union. Freed has also agreed."

Of course he did, Freed would chop off his right arm if he thought it was Laxus' desire.

"But…" Levy winced at how her voice squeaked, knowing that was why some didn't take her seriously, "I haven't."

Leaning forward, Laxus rested his chin on a fist. Grey eyes alight with interest. "Is there someone you'd rather?"

Levy could never win a staring contest, and looked down at her feet the next moment. Examining the mary-janes she wore with the knee socks she had paired with that day's dress. It wasn't her fault that she looked like a living doll, and the best clothing to suit her body-type only stressed this fact.

"Droy or Jet, perhaps. They had addressed the matter to me…on several occasions."

"No." Eyes still downcast, Levy shook her head. The two mentioned had been classmates, both developing crushes on Levy on sight and spending the years that followed pursuing her in friendly rivalry. Advances she always turned down with laughter and gracious delight.

It wasn't that she always knew that she was no great beauty like some of her female peers, that men would never fall at her feet, but she always hoped to have more offers that his forcefully arranged ones.

"Then, it's settled." Laxus clapped his hands, sealing the matter in the gesture. "You will marry Freed in three days."

"Three days?!" Levy sputtered. "Three days?" She repeated, when no other words or sentiments seemed to come to mind to articulate her refusal of the matter. It was bad enough that she was being forced into a legal union with a man she had barely exchanged two words with, but to be expected to do so on such little notice was beyond dumbfounding and needlessly cruel.

Where her voice failed her, the desire to vomit was coming up strong.

"Why wait?" Laxus seemed genuinely confused on her reaction. Not knowing how his planning was hurting Levy to her very soul. "That should be plenty of time to prepare."

"To prepare, maybe…but what about allowing time for Freed and me to get better acquainted?"

The muscular blond waved a dismissive hand. "You'll have the rest of your life to do that."

The rest of her life…

What had once been a bright prospect, full of words in books that she could devour with a ravenous hunger for knowledge and literature, suddenly became nothing but a blight. A looming date of doom.

An end.

The first chance she had to politely excuse herself from the fawning hands of the seamstress and her staff, Levy took it. Quickly bowing out with a sickly smile that barely passed as mannerly on her way out the shop's door.

Back at home, in the dorm that she shared with her fellow wizards-a place for them to unwind and relax between assignments-for the remaining hours until she was expected to move into the couple apartments with her new husband-a night full of mandatory events she refused to contemplate, everyone was working away to ensure that the following day's ceremony went off without a hitch.

And Levy wanted nothing more than to run away from it all.

From the forced smiles, overly bright voices, and whispered questions of how she was really feeling and if she was really alright.

Maybe she could dive into the fountain, nearly iced over from the cold weather claiming the air, and catch the strand of flu she knew to be going about.

Maybe that would be enough to postpone the inevitable long enough to buy her needed time to come up with an argument that would finally sway Laxus.

Not likely.

But the idea still held promise…

Slight fingers skimmed over the frosted stones of the market square's centerpiece. The burning cold was the first real sensation she felt since Laxus' words had numbed her two days before.

Maybe that remembrance of empty hollowness would have enough to prevent her from struggling against the arms that captured the next moment...if she actually had noticed the dark shadow looming behind her before it swept down from the rooftops in a flash of metallic on descent.

A moot point.

Levy was out cold before realizing anything was amiss.

One moment, she was contemplating self-inflicted illness…the next, the square was deserted and the impending wedding was about to become the least of Levy's concerns.

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**[A/N: If I continue this, the next chapter will be WAY longer. Just wanted to get the idea out there, for now. Sorry, also, for any/all typoes.]  
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	2. 1: Dragon and Princess

**[Disclaimer: I own nothing...This is just for fun!] **

**[A/N: Sorry for delay. My sister, who I only get to see once every few months, came in for a surprise visit. Been hanging out with her while I could. And…yes…I changed the name of PL's location, to better make it into a kingdom for this story's purposes. And, because I only know a total of six Phantom Lord members, this story will have OCs.]**

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**One: Phantom's Dragon…**

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_(…Kingdom of Oakton…)_

His Dark Majesty, King Jose Porla, was better known—but never called to his face—as the 'Phantom Lord' due to the nature of his magical abilities. Like all kingdoms on Fiore, a continent of the Earth Lands, all royals _had_ to be of magical skill. When most countries were faced with the unfortunate event of an heir being born without the abilities of his or her parents, the government officials would find the closest blood-tie to take the throne while ensuring that the former heir had the means to live out a comfortable life…

Oakton was of another mind set.

There, if an heir was discovered to be without the gift of magic, a battle royale—of sorts—would commence. A race between the kingdom's wizards, open entry for all with the understanding that there was no rules except one: Whoever killed the heir, without the use of magical ability, gained the crown.

That was how Jose had rose to power at the young age of nineteen.

A vicious mindset he maintained that ensured his kingdom remained known for its military's powerful prowess and isolated ways. What was 'known' about the key figures of their government and security were primarily derived from word-of-mouth storytelling. Mostly by a less than reputable teller.

Gossip is hardly a great median to gain truth.

Here, in most tales, would be where the narrator proclaimed that most of what was heard, the darkness in the hearts of Jose's men and the deeds he had them commit, were overstated and greatly manipulated.

Unfortunately, this was not the case.

If anything, the rumors and tales might be understated. A means for terror-stricken witnesses to deal with, and compartmentalize, the horror inflicted onto their lives was to play the matter down. Telling themselves that what they had seem had to have been some trick of light. That something in their mind's had snapped and they had started to hallucinate.

At times, insanity was preferable to truth.

None more so than in regards to what was known about the Phantom Lord's personal Dragon Slayer.

Leaning against a stone pillow of the onyx and steel throne room, arched ceiling and sparse decorations or furnishings making the interior considerably colder and more intimidating than that of other monarchs—rather than trying to instill respect and security, if not affection, into the hearts and minds of subjects, Jose preferred intimidating fear—and located in the rocky heights of the castle's north tower, Gajeel Redfox looked at his sovereign with a mix of contempt and boredom swirling about crimson eyes. There had been no ceremony or courtly manner to the young man's arrival. He had merely entered through the double doors, not waiting for his turn in the line of petitioners and his fellow wizards for an audience, and taken post to the left of the throne. Forcing Jose to twist where he sat so meet the Dragon Slayer's gaze…and why the Phantom Lord had long learned to not have any time his court where the nobility was present and fawning. Just in case something like this occurred.

One time such happening had been enough, and Jose nearly had all those who witnessed Gajeel's lack of decorum and respect executed. Not wanting to risk any telling tales. What had stopped him was Juvia, the Rain Woman of the infamous Element Four, commenting that there were less public ways of dealing with the situation. Mass murder would raise more questions than the possibility of a rare comment leaking out of what had been seen: that the Phantom Lord's iron Dragon Slayer wasn't the tame pet he wanted most to believe. He wanted others to continue believing that, at a snap of his fingers, he could have Gajeel overturn civilizations.

Loyalty, reverence, nor fear were the reasons Gajeel remained in Jose's service. His actions were far simpler than that. What it came down to was that pledging to Oakton allowed Gajeel the freedom and encouragement to do whatever he desired.

For the most part, Jose's desires and Gajeel's just happened to be of the same mind.

That didn't mean that they actually liked one another's company.

"How long are you going to stand there glaring at me?"

"Don't know." Fanged teeth bit down on a jagged end of one of his nails. Palm of his hand, covered in a leather and studded finger-less glove, rested on pierced chin. In all, Gajeel had twenty iron studs ranging about his face alone. That wasn't counting the other appendages that sported bits of metal. "How long are you going to waste my fucking time by playing kingly games?"

Jose's pink-grey skin added notes of red as his perfectly trimmed mustache twitched with annoyance. "I need you to acquire something for me…well, actually, more of a someone."

"Errand boy duties?" Lifting a studded brow, Gajeel snorted before shoving himself away from his post. "Fuck that. Get Totomaru or Sol to collect whatever woman you're lusting after—assuming that she's the usual brand of noble wife you seem so fond of, I doubt that either would be able to make too much of a mess of the endeavor—and leave me to my own devices. Unless you have something actually worth my efforts, I'm leaving."

"Do that, and you'll never know the secrets dwelling within those desert scrolls." Jose's voice, starting near the range of desperate and ending well-within smug. The change in tone coming from Gajeel's faltering footsteps at the reminder of the contents the Iron Dragon Slayer had uncovered while hunkered down during a sandstorm a few months back. He had been south completing an assignment on contacting former acquaintances about deliveries of interest to the Phantom Lord.

The winds had half-excavated a heavy trunk locked shut with a rusted padlock. One that Gajeel had bitten off the chest and idly chewed on while digging through the contents. Most of it had been worn away from the span of time, only five scrolls had received proper preservation procedures and wrapped in oilskin.

Scrolls covered in cramped hand writing and sketched-out renderings of dragons. Seeing that the writing was in an unknown language, Gajeel had no way of knowing what the information pertained to. If the scrolls were about dragons, or if the scribed had grown bored and merely began doodling during work. On returning to Oakton, he secreted the haul to the castle library and inquired the contents to the robed men and women who tended to Jose's impressive collection. Something he kept restricted to most, only those who could curry favor had free reign of.

None of these so called scholars could make way with the scrolls, but assured Gajeel they would continue research on the matter…and, apparently, thought it best to share this information with the Phantom Lord.

"Who said I cared one way or another?" Gajeel's voice was a contained growl, a fist rested against the reflective surface of pillar he had been stationed at moments before. Back still to the king. "I found some bits of paper buried in the sand and handed them over to your spineless bookworms. Burn them for all I care."

"You and I both know that is nothing more than a lying bluff. Not when there's a change, however small, that they might lead you back to your foster father."

Gajeel's fist flatted against the cold stone before flexing back to white-knuckle intensity once more. He never talked about Metalicana, the selfish bastard of a dragon who had taken Gajeel in when he found the boy starving in the wastelands, and yet it was the one aspect of his past that everyone knew.

Ask too many questions, no matter how subtly done—and Gajeel didn't do subtle well to begin with—and others would begin to take notice and piece bits together.

"Why do you care about finding dragons?"

"I don't. What I care about is their power. As illustrated by your abilities, it would greatly fortuitous to gain the advantage of harnessing such. My librarians and scholars can't make coherent sense of the text, but _she_ can." A whip of wind followed by the sound of paper sliding over the smooth expanse of marble. The corner of a glossy picture hit the back heel of Gajeel's left boot, wrinkling the bottom portion of the photo of a young girl.

"Levy McGarden, solid script wizard of Magnolia."

Bending down, Gajeel picked up the offering, noting that the shot had to be candid. The girl wasn't looking forward. Large brown eyes were looking at something beyond sight as she walked down a street in a dress that looked to be meant for a doll, suiting the girl's tiny build and matching the ribbon in the girl's periwinkle hair.

"A child?" Twisting about, Gajeel, held the picture up with a sneer. "You think that this child can translate those scrolls?"

"She's older than she appears, not much younger than you, and an accomplished wizard. Old Makarov had her travel about to other kingdoms a few years back, where she both practiced in individual study and aided in their work. They say that she is second to none on deciphering code and translating ancient text."

Gajeel looked back at the photo with uncertainty. "So, nab and the girl and bring her here to scribe out the scrolls' meaning?"

"Yes. And, when she is done with that, I expect you to ensure that no one else can ever use her abilities for their advantages again."

And that was what this came down to.

This was why Jose chose Gajeel for this errand.

Not only could the Dragon Slayer effortlessly spirit the girl away from the suspected safety of the castle, but he was known to be Jose's personal assassin. The core of all the stories about him pertaining to the merciless means he went about his work. Sometimes, going about these duties with something near relish.

He didn't officially accept or reject the assignment, merely placed the picture in the back pocket of his pants and exited the throne's hall without another word. Ragged hem of his black tunic fluttering in the wind created by his long-legged stride as he seemingly walked aimlessly about the castle's interior.

Not knowing what he was looking for until he got there.

The outdoor training yard was abandoned. Not many wanting to risk exposure to the on-coming cold season when they could gain as effective a work-out inside. No one seeming to understand the benefits of allowing the body to feel the chill against heated muscles and breathing in the crisp air through arching lungs. No one beyond Gajeel, who would run laps during a snow storm if the mood moved him so, and Pantherlily.

One of Jose's treasures to be displayed for company and used as an intimidation tactic, the scarred cat could shift between the size of an everyday household feline—accompanied by a fierce scowl and the ability to speak in a deep voice at war with the 'cuddly' appearance of his furry body—to that of something more humanoid than animalistic. Towering above the height of an average man…and the not so average, like Gajeel's towering build…Pantherlily could have long broken away from freedom of his forced servitude if it wasn't for the confining bands Jose had specially constructed. They allowed the shift from cute and cuddly to massive and imposing, but would send jolts of paralysis if he even considered acting out beyond what was desired.

He couldn't train, not properly, this way. That didn't stop the slave from taking the rare free moment and going out into the yard to ease his body through exercise sets that couldn't be perceived as lethal attempts or attempts at breaking away from his confinement.

As long as the _intent_ for escape or inflicting harm wasn't there, Pantherlily was free to go about as he desired.

"Gajeel." Pantherlily didn't have to turn to know who was sitting on the fence behind him. Though a slave, the black cat—no matter in what form—would never act in a servile manner. No matter who he interacted with, he represented himself with dignity and decorum. "You just arrived, and you are already going off to enact our master's will." Where Gajeel lacked the delicate touch needed for sarcasm, Pantherlily was an artist. Nothing changed in his mellow voice, but his true thoughts were known none the less.

"He's not my master."

Ceasing his movements, Pantherlily turned towards Gajeel, paws resting on the sash of his canvas pants. He once had armor, it now was put on display in one of Jose's gallery's. "Then, please explain, why is it that you always seem to find me when you're given a task that you know is not just or right?"

"I don't seek out the council of a conquered slave." Gajeel's face was as closed off as the metal he could control and manipulate. After all, you are what you eat. More so in regards to Dragon Slayers than anything. A stance that softened with him leaning his arms, heavy with corded muscles, back on the fence's top rung. "And I don't know if I'm going to accept."

Not fazed by Gajeel's insult, Pantherlily remained where he stood in the center of the fenced-off area. "May I ask what it is that you don't know if you will accept?"

Reaching into the pocket of his once-white pants, Gajeel flicked the photo into the air. Patherlily caught it between two pawed-fingers, nodding at the sight.

"Charming child."

"Not a child. Supposedly, she's a great word wizard…or something like that."

"And Jose wants her." There was no need to state it as a question.

"For the scrolls." Pantherlily spent the free time he didn't use for exercise in the library. If Jase knew about the scrolls, it was a safe bet that the giant cat would as well. "He thinks that it's a key for some kind of lost, powerful magic."

"Of course he would. The man can only see things further a price tag or the lens of a scope." Stepping towards Gajeel, Pantherlily returned the picture. "How important is the information to you?"

More than Gajeel would ever admit.

The iron dragon might have been a selfish bastard, he had been the only family Gajeel ever knew. And finding him had been Gajeel's driving force since the moment he—along with all the other dragons—disappeared.

Something he never would put to words.

But Pantherlily seemed to understand all the same.

"So, you already decided, just need to admit it to yourself."

Harsh expression returning, Gajeel hopped over the fence and began to walk away. Calling insult over his shoulder as he went. "And you're talking like a fucking fortune cookie."

A chuckle might have followed him, or it might have been the wind. The gale picking up with the promise of bringing snow.

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It had been easy.

Far too easy.

Never had Gajeel receive orders to acquire such an easy target.

She had been defenseless.

Completely vulnerable, standing in the middle a square and basically begging for someone to come and abduct her. A lost girl in a fairy tale that Metalicana had enjoyed twisting about to scare Gajeel with before sleep each night.

Her weight barely registered to his arms, only the tickle of her hair against his cold, bare skin was a reminder of the contents he bore. Fine as silk, he had been afraid to touch it when the first strand brushed along his arm. Only when the irritate became unbearably annoying did he luck it off with the tips of his thumb and forefinger. Feeling the light wisps clumped together in a loose curl.

Curled in one of his arms, her minute weight barely needing that—he felt that he could release his hold on her and the girl would merely float away…as if he was the lone tether to her and the ground—Gajeel could feel, despite the conflicting statement of her delicate features, womanly curves pressing against the hard panes of his chest.

Pert breasts barely made an impression against the soft material of the sweater that the woman could use as a dress but decided to wear with a pair of tiny shorts and the star-patterned tights that wore beneath that. It seemed almost like a jest for her feet to be wearing combat boots…with pink-and-orange laces.

How he was holding her, smuggling her across the rooftops in the desire to get her beyond Magnolia's capital city's limits long before dawn graced the sky, made the knit material of one sleeve pull down her shoulder. Allowing a pale swell of her chest to make the barest peek…

And Gajeel needed to get laid.

If he found himself looking at her, all five feet and ninety pounds of her, with hungering lust, it had been too long since he last had a woman, a real woman he didn't fear breaking on contact, moaning underneath him.

Not that there was a lack of willing.

There were several women back of Oakton's capitol that made themselves available to him. There being a status achieved by being bedded, or taken wherever available, by the lethal assassin.

That thought in mind, Gajeel flipped the woman to rest over his shoulder. Preferring to think of her as a depleted sack of grain rather than the princess she may, coincidentally, resemble.

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**[A/N: Again, thank-you so much for reading...and for all the reviews/follows/favorites...and please forgive any/all typoes.]**


	3. Waking Up

**[Disclaimer: I own nothing...This is just for fun!] **

**[A/N: Sorry for delay. School year is winding down (final testing) and I am taking courses this summer. Will try to update more frequently. And, please, once again—tell me what you think? This is my first time trying a story of this magnitude and any/all feedback—for good or bad—would be appreciated.]**

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**Two: Self-Serving Cooperation**

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Her fingers had been touching the fountain's rim, growing numb from the frost as she contemplated her bleak future…and then nothing. Next thing she knew, her whole body was cold, pins and needles traveling across her body. Making her vaguely aware of the hard surface her back was stretched out upon and the tremors traveling through her limps.

Had she fallen into the fountain?

Had someone fished her out and laid her upon the stone lip?

But…she was dry…

Sweater soft against her skin.

Boots not sloshing when she found the strength to give her ankles a searching roll. That act allowing her other senses, beyond that of touch, to gradually return.

Her nose twitched at the frosty, crisp scent of pine needles. Reminding her of the trips she had taken with some of her classmates and instructors into the mountains for training exercises. A freshly cleaned smell that prickled her nostrils when she took too deep a breath.

Her ears strained against the eerie calm she found herself placed in the mists of, far from the city she had been at the heart of, what she thought to be, seconds before. An undercurrent to the stillness were natural sounds of wildlife scurrying for scraps of food in the frigid climate. A last push for fattening before most went under for the snowy months to follow.

Her eyes were the last to come into play.

Opening them was physical strain on her body, forcing the lids to pry apart and lift far enough for her to take in her blurred surrounding. A few blinks being required to bring everything into focus.

And, once her sight was cleared, she wanted nothing more than to snap her eyes such and return to pretending that she had passed out in the middle of the square in front of the dress shop.

It wasn't her location, what appeared to be some kind of grove in a forest where pines were the only trees still possessing their leaves, that instilled her fright. Despite her appearance and her hobbies of choice, Levy wasn't worthless in the wilderness. In fact, reading field journals of famous explorers and other such books had given her insight that others might lack on how to handle the unexpected.

No, what terrified her was presence of the only other human for possibly miles.

Levy wasn't foreign to the sight of powerfully built men. The preferred fashion amongst her peers seemed to be bare chests. Those who did wear shirts lost them during the fights that spontaneously broke out within the ranks of palace wizards. In comparison to Laxus, who she had witnessed shirtless on several occasions, the man sitting on top of the towering rock Levy was resting on a lower shelf of was nothing particularly awe-inspiring. Hard muscles pressed against the black material of a tunic that had seen better days. Its appearance newly clashing with the crisp appearance of the white pants wore on long legs stretched out in front of him, tucked into boots with studded-steel heels.

Steel was a common thread to his appearance, adorning the wrists and knuckles of leather, fingerless-gloves. Spanning about the narrow circumference of his waist and running up his sternum. Even the skin of his bare arms and face was decorated with hardware. Studs that Levy believed had to be painful to gain, spotting about fair skin. Nearly overshadowing the scars slashed about areas of visible skin.

Even that wasn't the inception for the instant fear. Nor was it the wild, tangled mane of ebony hair—ranging down his back and kept off his face from a bandana as worn as the tunic he wore.

An assessor that allowed his eyes to be unhindered.

Crimson eyes that made the cold, distant stars above seem to blaze with understanding.

These, the unflinching irises analyzing her from his perch, were what made Levy flinch back and sink her teeth into her lower lip to stifle the desire to scream.

"And the princess awakes." The voice was a deep grumble, sarcasm grating against Levy's lingering sense of control. A whimper escaped mouth as her body automatically curled protectively into itself.

First instinct, to remain where she was and beg for him to explain who he was and why he took her and if he would just take her home. A display of weakness that would allow this man, whoever he was, to perceive her even more as prey than he had considered her moments before.

Instead, she forced her limbs—trembling more from fear than the cold—to straighten. Her teeth to release her lip and her eyes to hold onto the nightmare before her. He hadn't bothered to hobble her in any way, knowing that he would have been able to catch her if she tried to flee.

Calm facade managed to trick her mind to ease and begin deducing the answers to some of her questions without the need to voice them and give away more power than had already been stolen.

If death was his endgame, he would have done it already.

If assault of another kind was the set plan, he wouldn't have taken her so far from the city and waited for her to wake.

Logic noted that she had been kidnapped for a purpose beyond her gender. Though someone might have a fetish for petite and girlie, the more likely of a target along the line of Levy's best friend, Lucy. If she would have to guess the reason of why she had been chosen before all of the over thousands of females living in the capitol city, Levy would have to go with the lone aspect that set her apart.

Her power and talent with the written word.

The man's clothing was similar to those her male friends wore, and his coloring was close enough to the standard of her home that he could be a local. If it wasn't for the subtle difference in his pattern of speech and pronunciation, she would have concluded that he was from some group of rebel citizens, not pleased with the course the monarchy had taken, planning on overthrowing Laxus.

That theory ceased and unraveled as soon as it was considered.

Things about him were _similar_ but not _exact_. Speaking of a neighboring country.

The direction they had moved from their starting point, north, narrowing down the list further.

Standing, unable to do anything about how her legs shook but able to control her voice, Levy tried to cover her body's betrayal of frightful display by overplaying her cold. Tucking her hands into the opposite sweater sleeve to create a muffed look of sorts, she tilted her head back so never to lower her eyes in understood submission. "You might be unable to feel the cold, but you'll fine a fire to be an idea for you to consider. That is if you want me healthy and not covered in frostbite" There was a waver to her tone, but held stronger than she honestly thought possible.

Levy knew that fear would be present, there was no fighting that fact, but she could disguise some of it to be a factor of the weather's effect on her.

Her reaction made him raise a studded brow. That was all. And enough to tell Levy that she had gained her aim of unbalancing him by doing what was not expected. "Can't." Stepping off his towering seat as easily as one would going down a staircase, the man dropped to Levy's ledge. Solid body blocking the wind that began to caress Levy on her movement from the position he placed her. He smelled almost metallic, probably from all the steel he wore. "Fire will tell your friends where to find you. Have to lay low until they move away from this area."

That was reassuring.

If they were looking for her, she would be found soon. If Lucy failed through her celestial warriors, who were more familiar with Levy than most humans beyond their blond wielder, Natsu would hunt her down like a bloodhound; he would be able to smell Levy out. The nose of a Dragon Slayer was a considerable force.

All she had to do was buy her time.

A hand, palm covered in rough leather with heavy callouses covering his fingers, cupped her chin and forced Levy to lift her head. The gesture felt near straggling and not close to gentle consideration. "None of that now." Eyes narrowed, he bared fangs down at her. "Don't think that I am not aware of who's attempting at tracking us. The interesting thing about Dragon Slayers is that our noses can be our downfall." Nodding towards the pines encroaching about them, the man gave her an edges smile. "Perfume for your old-page smell."

Ours…

Oh sweet heavens…

All the facts that Levy managed to gather fell into their places on the mental puzzle she had been trying to click together.

Foreign, northern wizard with an affinity for iron-based substances and identified with being a Dragon Slayer.

The stability she had rationed into her being was cast aside with the revelation. Her knees went weak; his hold being the only thing keeping her upright and inadvertently cutting off air towards her lungs.

Only the near suffocating hold of Gajeel, sadistic pet of the Phantom Lord, was keeping her from collapsing onto the hard stone surface once more.

"Now." Not making to ease her into a more comfortable position, Gajeel continued to stare her down. "You are faced with a decision to make. Either be a good little, useless, girl and do along with what I tell you…or make this difficult for both of us. Which will it be, princess?"

Unable to respond, she merely nodded her head in consent.

Not knowing if this was the answer he wanted or not, Levy once again slipped into the darkness of oblivion once more.

* * *

This time, when she woke up, it was in the seated position somewhere warm but not completely comfortable. The scent here was something far more familiar than that of the pines before.

Yellowing pages and dusty leather.

Her eyes didn't need to be forced apart, they snapped open the moment she identified the scent. Confirming her suspicion that her setting had improved vastly from before.

A library.

A massive forest of shelves with their literary fruits bowing shelves under their weight.

Tears slid down her face, possibly an irritant to how dry her eyes had become from unreasonable fatigue. More likely, their arrival was due to joy.

This wasn't her library, which she knew every detail of down to the last page, but there was no denying the sense of security she felt surrounded by what she considered friends she had yet to officially meet.

"Crying?" The voice was the same from before. Eye unwilling to leave the comfort of the books, they found him leaning against one of the columns holding up the ceiling. The light of the flickering lanterns, strung about a safe distance from the shelves and secured to not risk their falling, he was washed in a wavering pattern of shadow and light. Wearing the same clothing as before, signs of the road still evident on their surface, and the scowl she knew instinctively to be permanently etched onto the harsh panes of his face.

Hands, still unbound, wiped at her cheeks. "I thought you were going to give me a choice." Her voice wobbled from the emotional release of waking to the beautiful sight of countless books and fear that had returned with a vengeance.

"I did." His tone was matter of fact. No thought or evidence of humanity present in his expression. Beyond that of possible annoyance. "Things would have been far more tasking if you had fought me and tried to stay awake on the way here."

"And what is it that you want me to do here?"

Again, she caused him to lift one of his nakedly studded brow. "The only thing a girl like you are fit for."

"A girl like me?"

"A bookish geek that couldn't defend herself to save her life." Voice bland, he stepped forward to pull a group of scrolls, parchment a golden-yellow and showing signs of wanting to flake at the edges. Making Levy wince at the way the Dragon Slayer treated them. "Translate these."

"Why?"

"None of your concern."

Fingers skimmed about the scrolls with a reverence only someone who understood the value and loved literature with a passion others would show a good fight or while in the arms of a lower. Levy took a steadying breath before voicing her thoughts.

"This is the Phantom Lord's library, correct?"

"Yes. You are in the underbelly of his palace. There will be no escape for you until we decide your task to be complete."

That wasn't her present concern. It was the wonder of being allowed to walk through the stacks of what was off-limits to most. Her mouth wanted nothing more than to water at the thought of what she could discover while working away down here into the late hours of the morning.

She had asked for a means to delay her wedding and this, oddly enough, did just that.

As for the threat of what would happen after this task was complete, what they planned on doing with her, all she had to do was buy time until one of her comrades and friends, family in the strongest sense of the word, found her. There was no doubt in her mind that they would do so.

Pushing her hair, ropy waves of blue snagged with knots from travel, Levy nodded. Allowing her eyes to cast downwards after fighting that instinct during their first meeting, this not being a true submission but to cover the spark that she knew had to be gleaming in her gaze, Levy gave a small nod of her chin and allowed her voice to stress the watery waver. "Alright…well, in that case, I better get to work."

* * *

**[A/N: As usual, please forgive any/all typoes...wrote this in a bit of a rush, but wanted to post something for you guys while I had the time. Please, tell me what you think.**


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